Guardian Angel
by Triola
Summary: ONESHOT “Harry knew his mother was only there for a short period of time, but that was ok, he knew that as long as he kept hurting, she would return” A story from a child’s point of view.


**Title:** Guardian Angel  
**Author name:** triola  
**Category:** General  
**Sub Category:** None  
**Rating: **K+  
**Summary:** "Harry knew his mother was only there for a short period of time, but that was ok, he knew that as long as he kept hurting, she would return" A story from a child's point of view.  
**DISCLAIMER:** Thisstory is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  
**Author notes: **Just a little something that came to me one night…  
**Warning:** implied child abuse

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Warmth. This odd sensation of warmth was completely new to Harry. He could feel her arms encircling him, the warmth radiating from all the parts where her body touched his. Her red hair fell in cascades around her smiling face, tickling where it touched his face. He had never seen a picture of her, but he knew she had red hair. Uncle Vernon had told him that. He didn't remember his exact words, but it was something along the lines of "red headed, ill-tempered freak with a good-for-nothing attitude". Harry didn't know what a freak was, but he was happy that his mother was one too. It couldn't be as bad as Uncle Vernon made it out to be if his mother was one too, because she was an angel. 

They had talked about angels at school and Harry knew that when people died they went to heaven and became angels. He had asked his teacher if all angels were freaks, but she hadn't answered him. He didn't know why, but she had gotten very angry and told him in a cold voice that all angels were pure, Christian beings devoted to goodness and that he'd do good devoting a little bit more of his time to goodness too, instead of the wickedness he was constantly showing. He wasn't sure what she meant, but at least he knew now that his mother was pure and good and if she was a freak, that had to be a good thing too, because no angels could be anything bad.

Sometimes, he thought that maybe he was an angel too. When he helped Mrs. Figg feed her cats, she thanked him and told him he was an angel. And once, when he was running from Dudley and his gang, he was suddenly on top of the roof. His teacher had taken him to see Mr. Clearwater, the principal, about it and when he had asked how Harry ended up on the roof, his teacher had suggested that maybe he had sprouted wings and flown. They had both laughed, but Harry had thought about it a lot. He knew angels could fly, so maybe he had just flown to the roof as his teacher said. It was a possibility. Another thing was the fact that one of Aunt Petunia's friends had told him he had the face of a cherub. At the time he was only four and he didn't know what a cherub was, but when he learned to read he had looked in the big dictionary Dudley used to keep his desk from wobbling when he played on his computer, and there it said that a cherub was the same as an angel. Sometimes when he was in his cupboard he could see his mother clearly, just like now, and she would hug him and say that he was her baby angel and that if he was really good she would come and bring him with her to heaven. Oh, how he longed to go to heaven. He tried all he could to be as good as his mother wanted him to, but each time he ended up doing something bad and he was sent to the cupboard again.

He didn't like to think of the cupboard, the cupboard was a bad place, Aunt Petunia had told him that. She said only wicked boys lived in the cupboard, while good boys had their own room with toys and books in. Harry didn't mind so much that bad boys couldn't have toys, but he wished they could have had books. He did love to read and sometimes when Dudley and Aunt Petunia were out, he would sneak up to Dudley's room and borrow one of his. Dudley never noticed they were gone, and he always made sure to put them back. He knew he was wicked for taking them, but he just couldn't help himself. He lived for those few hours when he could imagine himself into a thrilling story.

He loved it almost as much as those precious moments when his mother came. But that only happened when he had been really bad. When Uncle Vernon had punished him again, and he lay locked in the cupboard. She would always hold him close and make the pain and the tears go away, at least for a while. In the morning they would be back, but at least for a while he was peaceful. One time when it had been especially bad a man in a white coat had come to help him with the pain too, but he wasn't as good as his mother was. She made it all go away, but the man in white only put a piece of cloth on his arm and made him go to sleep. And when Harry had asked the man if he was an angel too, he had only laughed.

Harry was glad the man hadn't come this time. He did hurt a lot, but he knew that if the man had come, his mother would have stayed away. And he couldn't have that. He needed her to put her arms around him and soothe him and rock him to sleep. Just like she was doing now. He was feeling drowsier by the minute, and he knew they didn't have much time left together. But that was ok, because as long as Uncle Vernon kept punishing him, she would come back. And maybe next time she would take him with her. One day he knew she would, but as long as his wounds kept healing, he knew he would have to wait. But one day, one day he would be beyond healing, and then they would be together. Together in heaven as they were supposed to have been all along. One day.

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